


The Month of Gratitude

by MakeAStriderSmile



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Early Christmas fic cause I gotta be extra, Earth C, Just make this the epilogue Hussie you coward, Multi, Truly this is the gayest ending to Homestuck, and lovin the holidays i guess, drabble about being gay, gods bless us everyone, happy candlenights everyone, happy holidays of all faiths and standings youre all awesome and great
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-06
Updated: 2017-12-06
Packaged: 2019-02-11 10:09:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12933024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MakeAStriderSmile/pseuds/MakeAStriderSmile
Summary: Dirk and Jake's favorite parts of the holidays, told in the most vague and annoying roundabout way possible, featuring me trying to stuff Hal in there any way I could because nothing will stop me from including him in everything I do in my real ass life.I can't remember when I posted Blue (Full) Moon, must have been a few years back, I thought I'd do another Christmassy Dirkjake for the holidays. I think I might have more, not-Homestuck Christmas things planned, stay tuned I guess?





	The Month of Gratitude

You always claim it's the lights you love most. The seasonal glimmer, the way that, even in the dark of night, somewhere in the city, something was still shining. Every single color could be found if you stood at the highest point of the town and looked down on everything, the way you liked to do. Hal said it made you feel more powerful. You told him to shut up. He laughed, something that still never failed to make you smile, and just sat with you until the morning, or until you wanted to go back home.

 

You didn't call it Christmas, anymore. You didn't call it Twelfth Perigee either. Roxy argued for Candlenights, and, honestly, you were totally behind her on that, but eventually, the council, which was what John loved to call you when you gathered for pizza night, watched dumb movies and decided on the fate of the world you'd created, had decided to call it the month of Gratitude. No longer was it a day, a week, a fortnight. The entirety of December was festive, and every day gave you a new reason to celebrate, humans, trolls, carapaces and consorts alike. 

 

He always asks you what your favorite part is. He loves the carolling, even though he can't hold a note to save his damn life. Sometimes he claims the new trees are his favorite, a colourful mishmash of an Alternian tree you couldn't pronounce, though Karkat uttered the clicks and hissing sibilants like they were second nature, and a pine tree. The leaves were an odd thing, like the sheen of a beetle’s wing, purple and turquoise and shining green in turn, needles of iridescence. You loved to decorate it with the muted tinsel, matte gold, and he loved to put glittery little balls on the ends of the prickly fronds. He held your hand when the two of you put the star on the top. (You liked to say that was your favorite too, that night, lips dragging against his stubbled jaw, hands still pressed against his like you'd lose him. You were still so scared of losing him.)

 

He asks you what you're grateful for. It's the night before what used to be Christmas. You've each opened a single present. You, a knitted mug cozy from Rose, one that read in a font that honestly appalled you, (Really, Lalonde, Papyrus? At least make it Comic Papyrus) 'Merry Dickmas' , him, a watch that always kept perfect time from both you and Dave. (It had taken you weeks, tapping into his innate senses, time practically oozing from his pores, even as you were slowly but surely putting a little piece of yourself in there for him. It would never steer him wrong, because you would never let it.)

 

You can't help but look at him when he's quiet like this, nestled into your side. The green of his eyes shifts a little when you do, the lights from the tree catching on his glasses and turning his irises incandescent, the purple catching them and turning them eerie, until you shift your head again and find him laughing at you, because you could never bring yourself to stop staring when you caught him like this. You tell him so, and he goes quiet, so quiet, tucking that lovely face into your shoulder. 

 

You ask him what he likes best about the holiday and he just looks up at you, eyes alight with his answer, and you smile back, helplessly in love, hopelessly unable to pull your own eyes away, voice fond and rough with emotion you used to hide under irony and walls fifty feet thick. 

“Yeah, Jake. You're my favorite too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Keep in mind this was all written in about an hour by a very tired idiot who's been thinking too much about Dirk Strider for the past four hours. Save me.
> 
> I have a tumblr if you wanna chat, at lupdeservesbetter! I also have a Discord, but you'd need to PM me for that one.
> 
> Have a lovely day, and hey, Kels, if you do end up seeing this, imagine wimble but in a christmas outfit  
> IMAGINE


End file.
